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As if the plague of Swine Flu is not enough, look what is in the neighbors’ yard right this minute.

A GIANT LIZARD. I am pretty sure it eats babies. And has probably HAD babies, come to think of it. And come to think of it some more, those babies will probably descend en masse on the house tonight , dropping down through the vents and crawling around on me while I am sleeping.

At least that is what I am going to imagine is happening every time I hear a noise.

Because SERIOUSLY this lizard is at least a foot long, and it is just sitting out in the yard like he owns the place. Every child in the neighborhood is gathered around it, and it’s assessing them like they’re the buffet at Golden Corral.

I am screaming helpful advice like “DO NOT POKE THE LIZARD WITH YOUR SONIC STRAW! NO!!! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DON’T PUT THE STRAW BACK IN YOUR DRINK!!!”

Now, the last time I checked, we did not live in an area populated by giant baby-eating lizards, so this one probably came up from Mexico and is carrying Swine Flu.

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You may not have heard, but we’re undergoing a little bit of a “situation” here in South Texas. Couple of kids at a nearby high school came down with Swine Flu. So just down the road, the schools are closed, church services canceled, and you cannot turn on the TV without hearing “pandemic” at least 30 times an hour in a special report from Correspondent Piglet Little.

Happy Monday.

I am dealing with it in my own special way.

Why just face the virus with a standard surgical mask?

Bonus tip: breathe in too deeply after you’ve made those little nostrils with a Sharpie marker, and “high on the hog” is going to take on a whole new meaning.

I have some additional precautionary measures in place as well. Our kids’ school, for instance, remains open. So on advice from my friend Sherri atThis Blessed Mess, we slathered them with Purell and sent them on their way using alternate transportation arrangements.

At least it’s not like it was when I was a kid and the trip was uphill both ways.

Some of the paranoia is a little overkill, however. Contrary to some hysterics, you do not need to give up eating ham and bacon to avoid swine flu. This should be obvious, since *duh* both of those are made from “cured” pork. It says so right on the package.

It’s also important not to confuse other possible ailments for Swine Flu. Symptoms for Swine Flu, according to the CDC, include fever, cough, sore throat, body aches, headache, chills and fatigue.

If you are suddenly feeling like you should move to Iceland, singing eclectic avant-garde music, and wearing unusual outfits to premieres, however? That indicates something more serious. You may have a strain of the disease seen only once before.

Swan Flu.

P.S. The kids down the road are recovering just fine. If by any chance you got here searching for “Swine Flu” and need some real information, you can get it here: CDC Swine Flu Information.

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It has been about 2o years since I sent out wedding invitations, but I recall it being a vexing process of the nail-biting variety.

Did we address them right? Did we send them to everyone who needed one? Did we send any to people who would roll their eyes and say “whatever?” And by “we,” I mean “I.” Because I do not recall much assistance on that front.

*Ahem*

Not that I’m still bitter about that. Again, it’s been 20 years.

My point in dredging *that* up is that I’ve updated my link list. Taken it out of the sidebar and put it on it’s own special page at the top.

It has the following categories: Make Me Laugh, Make Me Hungry, Make Me Glad I Live in San Antonio.

You should totally get a snack and spend the rest of the day reading through these blogs. Perhaps even order pizza.

I will be real honest here and say I only added the last category because I needed a category appropriate for sports genius and San Antonio Express-News columnist Richard Oliver, who followed my Twitter directions beautifully when I asked people to DM me if they wanted to be added. And even said “please” after the “ungrateful loser” part. He’s very clever that way.

If I left you off the list and you blog, and you thought we were friends, would you please stop pouting and email me?

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Hormone surges, clickety clickety cliques, pierced ears, braces. She wants highlights one day, and the next, thinks wearing two different socks is a fashion statement. Black Converse One Stars wrestle in the closet with silver high heels. She is either rolling her eyes or asking “can you stay in my room until I fall asleep?”

And now, the baby doll on her bed is competing with this in the windowsill.

From. A. Boy.

A boy, mind you, who 3 months ago was labeled “disgusting,” a description punctuated with her sticking a finger down her throat and making gagging noises. So ladylike.

He lives down the street. Rides bikes with her little brother. He has ranged from being ok to catch frogs with to “why do you *EVEN* let them be friends, he is so mean to meeeeeeeeeee.”

Then, last week, in comes the Whirlwind, slamming the front door behind her.

“MOM! Commando Boy got jealous that Dallas* was paying more attention to me than him and told him I like him!”

I tried to be maternally reassuring.

“Oh, I’m sorry honey. He just wasn’t thinking.”

“No, MOM! It’s awesome. Because Dallas said ‘I know,’ and then Commando Boy said ‘I mean she like, likes you’ and then Dallas said ‘I like, like her, TOO’!”

I tried to smile bravely. Also, pictured her Dad’s head exploding at this new development.

Where do we go from here, fifth grade? Suddenly the tomboy who catches frogs is spending hours in her room trying on different outfits with her friends for “potential dates.”

Which will happen in about 5 years. Or over my dead body. Whichever happens first.

The neighborhood kids all head to the boy’s house to watch a movie. She comes home with reports of them sitting together on the couch, with a bowl of shared jelly beans in between. He put his arm on her shoulder during the credits. I explain “at your age, I don’t really think that’s appropriate.”

“Ok, I won’t lean in to make it easier next time.”

I bite my tongue to keep from laughing. Her dad’s head explodes again. I am suddenly glad he sold his father’s shotgun instead of bringing it home. Dallas has no idea how lucky he is.

She’s smarter than I am, already. So when I start to explain that I know it’s special when someone likes you that way, but I want her to take it slow, stop with this “date” and “boyfriend” business, she stops me.

“Mom, in fifth grade, that’s what a boyfriend means. You just hang out with your friends together. No *she finger quotes the air* inappropriate things. You just don’t want me to grow up.”

Suddenly, her eyes are teary and she’s climbing on my lap “I don’t want to either, but it’s here.”

I stroke her hair and wonder who’s parenting who, marveling at how she cuts straight to the heart of it all while I am worrying about hand-holding and sharing jelly beans.

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So, when you sent me the “friend request” a couple of weeks ago, I was a little startled, since you know, I don’t know you?

But I checked out the profile, you had a sweet profile picture with your lovely wife, your status said you were thanking God for a beautiful day, you listed your religious affiliation as Pentecostal Christian, and you were a fan of “24” and Sarah Palin.

And you know, I also thank God for beautiful days. Although he is not in my profile picture, I have a lovely husband. I love Jesus.

And I love “24.”

Oh, Hello, Jack. How did you get in this post?

*Ahem* Where was I?

Oh yes, and Sarah Palin. I was willing to be open-minded about Sarah Palin. Although, I will say, EVERY FREAKING TIME a random man tries to pick me up on Facebook, they are ALWAYS fans of Sarah Palin. This concerns me a little. Since I have some significant differences with the esteemed Governor of Alaska.

I do not say “you betcha.” I can name more than one Supreme Court case. I named my children while sober.

But apparently, we attract the same demographic. So watch out. I may run in 2012. I’m starting an exploratory committee.

But Facebook man, this is not about me, this is about you. As I say, I was willing to assume the best.

You posted 100+ pictures of your wedding. I commented on the lovely ceremony.

And I don’t know about in North Carolina, but I do not generally see “hooterrific” as a persuasive compliment. Also, my Facebook pictures are all head and shoulders shots. There are no hooters in evidence.

Although yes, actually they are fairly awesome. Not that you will ever know, honey. I do not celebrate Nekkid Thursday. Not publicly.

Finally, nekkid dude. I am not sure if you noticed as you were scanning my profile pictures looking for signs of hooterrificness, but I do write a blog.

If for some reason you can’t take a hint and contact me again, I *am* going to tell you to go ahead and send those pictures. Then, with some strategic blocking that I am sure will be small, I will happily share them with the rest of the internet. You’re welcome.